


Tender is the Light

by HQ_Wingster



Series: Chasing Covers & Finding You [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adorable, Affection, Affectionate Draco Malfoy, Boys In Love, Character Study, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Extended Metaphors, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Heart-to-Heart, Inspired by Poetry, Introspection, Lazy Mornings, Light-Hearted, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Married Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Realization, Relationship Study, Romantic Gestures, Sharing Body Heat, Short & Sweet, Sleepiness, Soft Harry Potter, Sunrises, Teasing, Tenderness, Touching, Touchy-Feely, Vulnerability, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28320795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Dawn(n.)It's the pinks, the blues, and the yellows from a nightlight; it's the daybreak behind a curtain and the dust above his eyes; it's the violet delights slowly fingering through his hair; it's the taste of something sweet that every love would compare before he pulls himself up and feels its breath beside his earIt's the beginning of something new, of something magical yet to come; it's the reunion of something dear and of something he'd never let go of, as he meanders past the darkness and finds his bit of sun; he holds him gingerly like a babe and brings him close to his heart, snuggling into the applewood soon wafting from his partnerIt takes twenty-one days to turn a commitment into a habit, but an entire lifetime before it's honed into an instinct. And naturally, he's no stranger to this simple progression. Since his earliest recollection, he's had to rise before the sun. But what keeps him in bed are the stubborn arms of his husband. Because every morning when he wakes; without fail, he embraces him. And by now, it's a need and not an urge in those moments whenever Draco pulls him closer and Harry settles right beside him.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Chasing Covers & Finding You [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100486
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40
Collections: drarry fics for the heart





	Tender is the Light

**Author's Note:**

> **From:** Me   
>  **To:** Me
> 
> _"I've been a very good boy this year,"_ I write as I jot this indulgent story because I don't often write for just myself. Nor do I ever for holiday purposes.

If behind every sunrise was its equal, the sunset — then naturally when he woke up, he’d still be lingering in bed. Fingers arched above the covers, like the legs of a crab, while they wandered down the dunes and the face of the duvet. Beneath the surface and breaking every wave above himself, his toes were digging into the mattress. Quite similarly to a cat’s: how they would paw at their bedding before snuggling where they were at, drooping under the weight of both sleep and amusement. But for Harry, he was waking and quite slowly at that. It took a minute for him to still, and it took another for him to wake up. It took an hour for him to stir when in reality, it took seconds. Because time flowed differently when you were submerged beneath a blanket, and he could swear a week had passed when he finally rose that Monday morning.

And far softer than the streams of violet from the window, how they fingered behind the curtain and strolled into the bedroom; and much warmer than the heat fluttering about him or tumbling from a breath when he  _ hmmm _ -ed into his pillow, how it stuck there like frost and grew wider with a smile as he hugged this little thing and held it dear as he burrowed; and much sweeter than the sparks of his magic in the air, how it danced across his tongue with every shudder and breath of air; and far cozier than a charm or even the moment he was in were all the adjectives and much more he could’ve used on his husband.

Because softer than dawn were the threads of Draco’s hair, they were as silky as water as they lapped beside his skin. Because warmer than the room and the furnace that was him were every finger and the arms and the grooves of his man, how he had reached out like a tendril and caught Harry into a hug. And where even if he wiggled, he couldn’t leave if he tried. Not while he was wrapped like a present and was affectionately bow-tied, carefully guarded against anyone who tried to peek beneath the wrapper: because written in mirth was “from Draco, to Draco” and in a font much smaller as it wound from his chest, fiddling between the buttons of his shirt and amusement, you would find two words that kept Harry in bed. They started with “he’s” and ended in “mine”, and they were as sweet as the nuzzles Draco buried into his side. Because cozier than the love and the sparks in-between them, even better than waking up and finding the other right beside him, was knowing that every day, this moment was here for him. And that it waited like a niffler, promised gold at sunrise. Or perhaps,  _ he  _ was the creature when he settled back into the warmth and closed himself around and dug faintly into Draco’s arms.

With a murmur indecipherable next to the snores from his husband, all the blankets and pillows that were unearthed when he got up — they were now wiggling into the pockets and the pools between his limbs. Where strutting were the pillows before they flopped onto Harry’s face, and all the sheets and blankets and the fleece were inching with them. Until they marched past his stomach and were now settled like a wave, tucking lightly along the spaces where Draco hadn’t touched yet. And the man did wiggle and he kept at it for quite a bit, as if aware of what happened after Harry slumped beside him. But still, he didn’t wake and only drew himself closer. Squishing the barest breath of air between Harry and the rest of him, quite similarly to a ferret whenever it squirmed in its nest. Not that he would say that out loud or come close to think about it, but the gesture was uncanny when Harry squinted to meet him.

He could trace the blur of Draco’s nose and where his mouth and cheeks would be, and the blond could be awake and Harry wouldn’t notice it. Because a sheen of soft grey was a bit everywhere at the moment and he could be pressing into Draco’s face and not even find that he was looking at him. Not that he would do that, of course; but the thought was still there. It was enough to distract him from the activities that he’d normally do at this hour. Like brushing his glasses or lifting his teeth, brewing some breakfast or eating coffee — you know, all the things that no day could be a day without for it was part of a routine. Part of a habit, more accurately: could be an instinct if he chipped at it. But the important part about all of this was that none of it was being done, and he didn’t mind that was happening. And in fact, he rather loved it.

Because every second while in bed felt like an hour that he could play with: where he could decipher every blur and unwind the puzzle that was his husband, fingers inching towards the pieces that he could put together without trying. But still, his fingers would fumble and pretend that they were incompetent. All an excuse for him to linger and to stay here longer than he knew he had to. Especially when Draco would loosen his hold, as if sensing that he should’ve been gone already. But had he truly believed that and had meant it when he did it, then why were his arms, his hands, and his touch snaking back around when Harry tried to move on?

It was  _ cute  _ in its own way,  _ endearing  _ if he could say it,  _ adorable  _ as he smiled,  _ dear  _ when he snuggled in. And well, if no one wanted to move or wanted to leave this comfy bed or wanted to be here all alone while his husband was somewhere else, then to stay and to embrace was the only option left. There was no use fighting against it when both wanted this and were content.

So a  _ ‘goodnight’  _ to the blurry world and all the things he had to do today, and so a  _ ‘good morning’  _ to all the things and the one person he wanted to spend this with. As he pressed a little deeper and a little closer to his husband, breathing all he was as if Draco was his oxygen. Or at least, the  _ ‘O’  _ to his  _ ‘O’  _ and they were a compound in the universe. And if he was a chemist of some sort, he could’ve rambled from there. But since he wasn’t and Draco was, he didn’t see anything wrong in leaving this with an expert. And if his man were awake and could listen to what he was thinking, he’d quip that Harry was far cheesier than an English cheesecake and that a Malfoy of some respect would never stoop to such frivolity. But a Potter — Harry would argue — would welcome it with elation. And as a Potter by name and in marriage and for life, Draco would soon come around and would act as cheesy as his husband.

For instance, like right now: he was squishing Harry with a vengeance. As if pouting through his limbs that the man would dare leave him: all for a cup of coffee and for some breakfast this morning. He was frowning in his sleep and God, Harry could kiss him. And he didn’t need his glasses to know where he wanted to be.

But before he could get there and squish the air in-between them, there was a rustle from the sheets and a cascade made of fingers. Threading through his hair before kissing near his stubble: where a thumb found its home and rested beneath his mouth while the rest of the hand had fanned out to hold him. And if he leaned, he could’ve etched a bit of poetry from his lips. Maybe something about stars while he scrawled it on a palm, or maybe something much more since Draco had woken up. And he didn’t need to see him to know that he was definitely looking back and that there was fondness in his eyes because he felt it through his touch. Just like the first time when they had woken together like this, some years ago when enemies had steadily become friends. Or something more, now he thought about it.

It didn’t linger when Draco kissed him. After they pulled from each other, he yelped a little when Draco pinched him. The man had jabbed it like a needle and had buried it into his underside. Muttering without a bite that he should’ve been up already, that lazing around in bed was spelling trouble for somebody, but that  _ somebody  _ — “Yes, it’s  _ you,” _ Harry tickled him beneath the covers — was the reason why he couldn’t before eventually, why he wouldn’t.

“You’re impossible,” Draco wheezed, retreating farther into his pillow. As if that could save him as Harry shuffled over, rolling as he did and colliding into a shoulder.

“Compared to you?” Harry blinked and he wandered with his fingers, feigning he had lost him before he tickled Draco’s weak spot. And every stammer mixed with laughter was music to his ears, followed closely by the shrieks of  _ ‘Fuck you!’  _ and  _ ‘Potter! _ ’

“I’m a saint,” Harry teased and there was no one to deny that.

**Author's Note:**

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